Spring and Mulberry.
Mulberry and Spring.
Beneath the shark, black and white in hand,
I'm feeling the sting; I'm a jaded man.
And DeSalvio's bare branches look down upon me
to tell me excitement has subsided
to the loss of youth; but, much more importantly,
in the the tidalfire that is feeling like...
you are at home.
I drop in with the buzz and throng
of living urbanity - no banality;
but to try and capture the uncapturable,
to write an unwritable line -
to close. On the delicate promise of rhyme.